Читать книгу Buddy in School - Howard R Garis - Страница 5

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Buddy was not long in reaching the side of the big Gypsy boy who was holding the squirming, yelping dog. Buddy noticed that the dog’s hair was almost the color of his own a rich, brick red that often caused Buddy’s chums to call him “Bricktop.” But he didn’t mind that.

“What are you going to do to that dog?” asked Buddy as he reached the side of the other boy who was stooping down low on the ground.

“Can’t you see what I’m going to do?” snapped the Gypsy.

Of course Buddy could. The only reason he asked that question was that he wanted a chance to think what he was going to do to get the frightened dog away.

“You let him go!” exclaimed Buddy firmly.

“Let who go?” snarled the other.

“That dog! Let him go!”

“Go chase yourself!” ordered the Gypsy.

He spoke English just as the other boys did in Mountchester, though he used slang as Buddy noticed. He might be able to speak the Gypsy language, too. Buddy wasn’t sure about that.

“Go chase yourself!” said the tall, dark lad again. “When I get through tying this can on my dog I’ll tie one on you!”

“You won’t dare!” cried Buddy. “And that isn’t your dog, either!”

“Is he yours?” asked the Gypsy, looking up as he was pulling the loop of the string tight around the dog’s tail.

“No, he isn’t!” Buddy answered. “But you haven’t any right to tie a can on any dog’s tail, even if he is yours! And I don’t believe this dog is yours. You just found him!”

“Well, what if I did?” and the other laughed. “I’m going to have some fun with him now! I’ll see how fast he can run with this can on his tail. It’ll be a lot of fun. Then I’ll chase you some more!”

“I’m not afraid of you!” declared Buddy, bravely.

His heart was beating fast and his blue eyes were flashing. He took off his cap and ran his fingers through his red hair. It was almost the color of the dog’s shaggy coat, he noticed again.

Buddy was thinking hard. He loved all animals and it made him angry when anyone was cruel to a dog or cat. Suddenly the stray dog gave a yelp of pain and with his brown eyes looked straight into the blue eyes of Buddy. It was more than the small boy could stand.

Fiercely he sprang at the now kneeling Gypsy and cried:

“You let that dog go!”

At the same time Buddy pushed with all his might against the Gypsy. If the bigger boy had been standing up, Buddy’s push would not have upset him. But as he was half stooping, half kneeling it did not take much of a shove to topple him over.

“Hey! What are you doing?” cried the Gypsy to Buddy, trying to keep his balance.

The next moment he went sprawling down in the dust and Buddy, with a quick motion, had pulled the string from the dog’s tail, and, with a swift kick, he sent the can rolling under a fence.

“Come on, Brick!” cried Buddy. In that instant he had given the dog a name—a new name—and had decided what to do with him.

“You’re going to be my dog—if nobody claims you!” Buddy said. “And I don’t believe you were anybody’s dog before—not even his,” and as he started to run away he looked at the Gypsy who was now getting up, an ugly look on his face.

“Come on, Brick!” cried Buddy again. “Come on! Here, Brick!”

Brick—to give the dog the new name which matched his hair, as it matched Buddy’s—Brick followed his new master, joyfully wagging a burr-entangled tail.

“Hey, you! Stop!” yelled the Gypsy. “Hey!”

He was on his feet, now, and was about to run after Buddy again. But Mr. Cutter, the jolly, big, red-faced butcher, had looked down the alley and had seen what was going on. He hurried toward Buddy and Buddy was glad to notice this. Then the Gypsy saw help coming to the boy he had lately chased and he quickly turned about and slunk away around the corner.

“I’ll get you some other time!” he muttered.

“Pooh! I’m not afraid!” said Buddy. “Come on, Brick!”

The dog again wagged his tail and, reaching up, licked Buddy’s hand with a damp, red tongue. By this time Mr. Cutter had come nearer.

“What’s the trouble, Buddy?” he asked.

The red-haired boy explained and patted his new dog’s head. The animal seemed happy now, sitting down, looking from Buddy to the butcher and back to the little boy, at the same time contentedly wagging his tail.

“What you going to do with that dog, now you have him?” asked Mr. Cutter. “Want I should take charge of him? He looks like a good dog, only he’s thin. Hasn’t had much to eat, I guess.”

“I’m going to keep him, thank you,” said Buddy. “That is if nobody else owns him. That Gypsy said he was his dog.”

“He wasn’t,” said Mr. Cutter. “That dog has been hanging around this alley all last week. I threw him a few scraps, but he was so timid he wouldn’t come near me. That Gypsy lad never saw him until just now. I guess he can be your dog, Buddy, if you want to keep him.”

“Sure I want to keep him,” said Buddy “Why not?”

“Will your mother let you?”

Buddy hadn’t thought about that.

“Yes,” he said, slowly, “I—I guess she will.”

In the distance a bell rang.

“Oh, gee!” exclaimed Buddy. “School!”

“Don’t be late!” the butcher warned.

“No, I’m not going to,” the little boy answered. “But—this dog—I haven’t time to take him home and if I let him go that Gypsy will tie a can on his tail.”

“Better leave him in my shop, Buddy.”

“No, thank you, Mr. Cutter, he might get away. You’ll be so busy you won’t have time to watch him.”

“Well, that’s right, Buddy. I will be pretty busy, with everybody home now and wanting their orders all at once. But if you haven’t time to take your dog home——”

“I’ll take Brick to school!” suddenly decided Buddy.

“To school?” exclaimed Mr. Cutter in surprise. “And what did you say his name was?”

“I’ve named him Brick,” Buddy answered. “His hair’s sort of brick red, like mine.”

“But you can’t take a dog to school, even if he has red hair,” spoke the butcher laughingly.

“I didn’t just mean I’d take him right in school—in my class,” Buddy explained. “But I can tie him up in the basement, or in the yard, I guess. I can use my book strap.”

“Well, I suppose you can do that,” agreed Mr. Cutter. “But if you want me to I’ll look after Brick until you get out.”

“Thank you,” said Buddy, politely, “but that Gypsy might sneak in when you were busy and get him. I’ll take my dog with me. Come on, Brick!”

Buddy hurried off in the direction of the school and the dog followed, wagging his tail. He seemed well pleased and contented with his new master. Buddy, he knew, would never tie any tin cans on a dog’s tail.

Turning the corner, Buddy was soon in the midst of a number of his boy and girl playmates. It was the first time he had seen some of them since the last day of school in June.

“Hello! Hello, Buddy!” they called to him. “Whose dog?”

“Mine!”

“What you going to do with him?” asked Harry Clee.

“Keep him.”

“In school?”

“I’m going to tie him down in the basement until I come out at noon,” Buddy explained. “He’s a good dog,” and he patted his pet’s head.

“He sure is a good dog!” agreed fat Jerry Fleck. “I guess he’s the kind they call a hunting dog. Where’d you get him, Buddy?”

There was no time to answer for just then another bell rang, warning the children that unless they hurried in they might be late. So they all ran toward the school yard, Buddy among them, leading his dog by the book strap he had now put gently around the animal’s neck as a collar and leash.

Into the school and yard poured several eager, joyous, laughing streams of boys and girls entering by different gates and doors. Buddy remembered that he had been told first to go to his old room, where Miss Borden had taught him. After assembling there, her former pupils would go to their new room—that is all who had passed and had been promoted, and Buddy was among these lucky ones.

As he hurried into the school, Buddy passed along a corridor, or long hall, to get to Miss Borden’s class. He looked in and saw a new, empty room, for an addition had been built on the school during vacation.

“I don’t believe there will be any class in that room today,” said Buddy to himself. “I’ll leave Brick in there. It will be better than down in the basement. Besides, I haven’t time to go down to the basement with my dog.”

Into the new room Buddy hurried. He saw an open closet and quickly led Brick inside. There were some hooks on the wall and to one of them Buddy fastened the dog strap, carrying his books loose under his arm. Brick whined softly when he found he was going to be left alone.

“Please keep quiet!” said Buddy in a low voice. “I’ll come back and let you out as soon as I can, Brick! Please keep quiet!”

As if the dog understood the need of silence in school, he curled up on the floor of the closet and shut his eyes.

“That’s the way!” said Buddy with a little laugh. “You’re a good dog,” and he shut the closet door. Then Buddy hurried to Miss Borden’s room where he found all his classmates.

There were never many lessons or recitations the first day of the new term, and after some exercises to open the school, and some singing, Mr. Pardin, the principal, gave a little talk in which he said he was glad to see all his boys and girls again.

“And now, children,” said Miss Borden to Buddy and the others when the morning exercises in the assembly hall were finished, “you are going to leave me and go to Miss Thatcher’s room. She will be your teacher from now on. I have told her what good boys and girls you are and how well you study. I am sure you will like Miss Thatcher and that she will like you. Ready now! March!”

Buddy and the others marched out into the hall, just as children from various other rooms were doing. One of the older girls, from an upper class, a sort of monitor, led them into the new part of the school and, to Buddy’s surprise, into the very room where he had tied Brick, his dog!

“Oh, gee!” whispered Buddy to himself as he looked at the closet. “I hope nothing happens! But—Oh, gee!”

“Just sit down anywhere for the present, children,” said Miss Thatcher, coming in to take charge of her new class. “Later on I will decide which desks you are to have for the term.”

Buddy slid into the nearest seat, never taking his eyes off the closet door. For a moment there was quite a little noise and confusion of shuffling feet. Then the room grew very quiet. Miss Thatcher looked at the faces of the boys and girls in front of her. She seemed to pick out Buddy.

“Instead of a lesson this morning,” said Miss Thatcher smiling down from her chair on the platform, “I will let you take turns telling about your adventures during vacation. I will begin with you,” and she pointed at Buddy. “I’ll have to ask your names,” she said, “for I don’t know you, yet, as well as Miss Borden did. Now then,” and she nodded at Buddy. “You may begin. But first what is your name?”

“Buddy—I mean Richard Martyne,” he answered.

“And did you have fun this vacation?” Miss Thatcher asked.

“Oh, I had a fine time!” exclaimed Buddy, never taking his eyes off that closet door. If only Brick would keep still! “I went to my grandfather’s farm and I raised a prize pumpkin and——”

Suddenly there was a queer noise in the room. It began as a soft little whine and, a moment later, turned into the loud howl of a sad and lonesome dog who wanted to be let out and join his master.

Brick, in the closet, hearing Buddy’s voice, was now howling and barking as loudly as he could.

“Oh! What is that? My goodness!” exclaimed Miss Thatcher. “What is that?”